I feel comfortable saying the Mars Volta is my favorite band. And while that doesn't necessarily entail that I feel like listening to them all the time, it does mean that they get my blood boiling like no other. Let's examine some adjectives. Terrifying, sexy, chest pounding, spicy, apocalyptic. These are qualities that resonate in my sternum when the Volta is tearing a track apart. Their ability to navigate back and forth between the cataclysmic and the serene is executed with such nail biting sauciness it's almost too much to handle.
I saw them last night at the Roseland Ballroom, and I'm not gonna lie. I have some issues. First, they were almost forty minutes late. Tardiness, regardless of my blind devotion, is hardly appreciated. Second, and I don't know if I can bestow the full brunt of this blame on the Volta, it was too loud. I feel like I've seen shows at Roseland before where it was the same situation. Granted, the Mars Volta does not necessarily pride themselves on quietude. But perhaps there is some sweaty, drooling techie behind the controls that can be accused for the auditory assault my ear canals were subjected to. Maybe he accidentally pushed the volume lever up when he was reaching for his fruit leather, and then fell asleep in a folding chair. We'll never know.
I took these shots while standing on my tippy toes attempting to see over the human-giraffe hybrids that peppered the crowd. The Volta is notorious for weird backdrops, which as you can see, this time featured a pile of wings with eyes and some sort of Mayan professional wrestler with fish skeletons protruding from behind his head. Good stuff.
